


the sound of rust

by booksinaballroom



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: (i mean this is the given fandom...so ofc this is a tag?), Fluff, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booksinaballroom/pseuds/booksinaballroom
Summary: Mafuyu wants someone to understand it for him, to tell him what he’s feeling, to reach inside his heart and pull out this conglomerate of pain and anger and hell knows what else and tell him exactly what it is. He wishes someone would translate it into words for him, present it to whomever might want to listen, and let him go on avoiding it forever.But he remembers what Kaji-san said, and he knows that he has to face this, that he can’t keep running from it, hoping one day Yuki’s ghost will just stop being able to keep up.He has to settle it, like Kaji-san told him. Has to verbalize it.
Relationships: Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	the sound of rust

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time i discovered given and then watched it 4 times in the following 3 weeks, and forced everyone i know to watch it. and then i still could not stop thinking about it, so i listened to the OST on repeat for days and wrote this.
> 
> if you are surprised by me suddenly writing for a different fandom, go watch given and then come back and read this. i promise you won't regret it (watching given, that is...let's not pretend this fic is any sort of masterpiece.)

The pen makes a scratching noise against the paper that grates against Mafuyu’s ears, almost ripping through the page as he crosses yet another line out.

“You should write the lyrics,” they had said. He can see everyone’s faces in his mind, Haruki-san and Kaji-san and Uenoyama-kun nodding while looking at him, like trying to encourage a baby to take his first steps.

They all think he can do it; that much is obvious.

And he...well, he also thought he could, or, at least, he wanted to.

But it has been weeks of this. Wandering, pressing the backspace button on his phone, crumpling up yet another sheet of paper, having to tell them all again and again that he still hasn’t made progress. 

It’s just that every time he starts trying, it all stops making sense. It snaps like the string on Yuki’s guitar that day: rusty, a little bit decayed, strung tight like it’s been waiting to break.

It’s a mixture of things, probably, not that he even knows what any of them are; he’s kept them all shut in a closet, out of sight, out of mind, with the door tightly locked. Until now, that he needs to open it up, to see what’s there and recognize it, to process it, and eventually put it into words.

The first thing he remembers, whenever he thinks about...this, this — whatever it is — is snow, falling in tiny clumps from a gray sky. It still makes him feel cold even in the middle of summer, still won’t melt in spite of the relentless sunshine and sweltering heat. Yuki himself is stuck there, frozen in that endless winter, but his ghost follows Mafuyu, an icy wind alongside him wherever he goes.

Mafuyu wants someone to understand it for him, to tell him what he’s feeling, to reach inside his heart and pull out this conglomerate of pain and anger and hell knows what else and tell him exactly what it is. He wishes someone would translate it into words for him, present it to whomever might want to listen, and let him go on avoiding it forever. 

But he remembers what Kaji-san said, and he knows that he has to face this, that he can’t keep running from it, hoping one day Yuki’s ghost will just stop being able to keep up. 

He has to settle it, like Kaji-san told him. Has to  _ verbalize _ it.

He presses the tip of the pen to the paper, and starts to write, makes another attempt at turning whatever he’s feeling into words.

_ just like snow that hasn’t completely melted in the shade _

_ I continue on with these feelings inside me _

He writes the last word of the line and the pen drops out of his hand from the shock of it, the way a warm feeling of relief is pulsing at his fingertips. Maybe someone  _ will _ understand it, he thinks, just a little bit. 

Maybe “just a little bit” would be enough. 

The sun comes out from behind a cloud as he writes the last word and, for the first time since that winter, Mafuyu can feel its warmth on his skin.

\---

The string snaps in his hand and it’s like he’s trapped in some sick slow-motion replay, being forced to relive his worst nightmare, snow and ice and rope swimming in front of his vision.

The thing is, Uenoyama has always pushed him, always seen his excuses for the flimsy fear that they are. Uenoyama has been the type who yells “You dumbass!” in a way that’s pure kindness and concern, like he knows it will give Mafuyu the courage to  _ try. _ And he’s right. It does. “Your song shook me to my core,” he had said, looking at Mafuyu like he could see his feelings. And this whole time, he had kept saying things like “I want to play along with your lyrics” and “there’s still time.” Mafuyu had kept trying because Uenoyama kept having faith in him. 

But now even Uenoyama has given up, yelling “you  _ couldn’t  _ do it” in a way that had sounded like pure disappointment, and Mafuyu’s string breaks and every part of him goes spiraling back to  _ then,  _ in a way that barely hurts because he is already so numb to it.

Uenoyama’s eyes are wide, and Mafuyu wonders if the world is really ending, because the look on Uenoyama’s face mirrors what he’s feeling, failure and despair and gaping fear. Doom. Their performance is doomed. Their band is doomed. Any hope Mafuyu had to finally put his past into words is also doomed. Everything is swirling snow and gray skies and Mafuyu is freezing, freezing cold in the middle of summer.

“Hey, what happened?” Haruki asks. Mafuyu can’t lift his head to look at him. “Oh, your string broke? Do you have a replacement?” He chastises them for looking so forlorn, and he reminds them that it isn’t a big deal, and the sense of perpetual winter starts to dissipate, just a tiny bit. “When a string breaks, you just have to fix it!” Haruki looks at Uenoyama. “Weren’t you the one who fixed it for him when it happened the first time?” 

Uenoyama ends up running full-sprint to the corner store, and the next thing Mafuyu knows Uenoyama is back and standing in front of him, panting and holding up the strings like he’s just won a race. Kaji-san and Haruki-san leave, and then Uenoyama-kun comes closer, says Mafuyu’s name gently and carefully, and offers to change his strings.

Mafuyu doesn’t dare look at him as he works, doesn’t dare to see if that look of disappointment is still on his face. “Mafuyu,” Uenoyama says again as he trims the last string.“I like your sound.”

_ Oh.  _ Mafuyu looks at him, finally, and he doesn’t look disappointed, or angry, or anything Mafuyu was expecting. He looks kind, and a little bit hopeful. Mafuyu feels his heart jump in his chest. Maybe Uenoyama-kun hasn’t given up on him after all. 

He keeps talking, and Mafuyu keeps staring at him, hearing him say words that are a little bit rough but are filled with praise, praise for him _. _ Uenoyama-kun thinks he is talented and capable, thinks  _ Mafuyu _ is the one pulling  _ him _ up. He thinks playing music with Mafuyu is  _ fun. _ Mafuyu can’t look away from him. Uenoyama says he’s also bad at putting his feelings into words. 

Mafuyu feels alive, feels seen, feels so very not alone. Uenoyama isn’t looking at him, but Mafuyu can feel the warmth coming off him in gentle waves, a soft contrast to the snowstorm always swirling around in Mafuyu's head.

Then it’s time for them to go on stage, everything is a rush of movement and bright lights. Mafuyu runs his finger along the strings that Uenoyama had just replaced. They’re not stretched too taut or splattered with rust, not ready to break; rather they are perfectly strung and in perfect tune. They are ready to sing.

Mafuyu thinks he might be, too.

\---

Everything is bright and blinding and hot as Mafuyu sings the last line and steps back from the microphone. He’s still playing, and the song’s not over, but he can already feel the adrenaline starting to drain out of him. His heart is racing and he might be shaking and out of impulse or habit or whatever it might be, he looks over at Uenoyama. Uenoyama is already looking at him, and his eyes soften when their gazes meet, and then he smiles, the kindest, most encouraging smile Mafuyu has ever seen in his life. 

His heart stutters, or possibly stops altogether, and for the first time in ages he feels tears in his eyes. He can’t fix what happened with Yuki, or get rid of the memory of him, but he finally said it, finally had someone by his side who pushed him to keep trying until he put it into words. He finally  _ let it out,  _ because Uenoyama... _ Uenoyama… _

The song ends, or something, and Mafuyu tries to catch his breath, staring at the crowd. He sees people clapping, and smiling, and hears the distant sound of cheering ringing somewhere behind his ears. Did it reach them? It looks like it did, like they understood, even if it was just a little bit. He  _ finally… _

Like gravity, his feet start to pull him toward Uenoyama, who is waiting for him, ready to loop an arm over his shoulder and help him walk off the stage. The weight of his arm is comfortable and grounding. This is all because of Uenoyama, because he chased Mafuyu down on the street that day, because he kept pushing him and encouraging him and making him believe it was possible. “Thank you,” Mafuyu says in a desperate sort of rush, staring at his hands, clutching onto Uenoyama’s shirt as if that will help convey his gratitude. “Thank you for getting me this far.” He looks up at Uenoyama. “Thank you.”

He doesn't even have time to blink before a pair of lips is on his, just lingering long enough for him to realize whose lips they are (Uenoyama's lips,  _ Uenoyama's).  _ Uenoyama’s hand stays tangled in his hair, and Mafuyu doesn’t have the chance to speak or react before Uenoyama warmly praises him (again) and walks away.

Mafuyu feels a lot of emotions suddenly, vibrantly, saturating through every inch of him. There are emotions he’s been running from (pain, guilt, frustration, anger, fear) and ones that have suddenly crept up on him (gratitude, belonging,  _ love. _ ) And after months and months of cold, clinical numbness, he finally feels them all, watching as tears fall from his eyes, catching them in his hands because he’s still not quite sure they’re real.

He sinks onto the staircase, clutching his guitar — Yuki’s guitar, but with the new strings Uenoyama had put on just a few minutes ago. Not a trace of rust.

“I’m not lonely,” he tells Yuki, something he’s said over and over again. 

He thinks this might be the first time those words have actually been true.

\---

The guitar is a comfortable weight at this point, something familiar and reassuring. Mafuyu can hardly remember the way it used to bear down on him like something cursed, heavy with guilt and pain and repressed emotion. He doesn't have to think anymore when he plays it. The notes and chords are second nature to him, in a way that makes him wonder if a love for music has always been there, simmering beneath his skin, waiting to be discovered.

He misses a few notes during the bridge, though, and has to bite back a smile as Uenoyama chastises him for it. Kaji-san had told him once that he was worried about Uenoyama going soft on Mafuyu once they started dating, but it seems like his worry was wholly unfounded. Uenoyama is, first and foremost, a guitarist, and a prodigy at that, and not even falling in love would make him lower his expectations for Mafuyu. Mafuyu listens to his criticisms, the way he always has; he trusts Uenoyama to push him towards the best version of himself.

Kaji-san and Haruki-san go out for their smoke break, and Uenoyama spends a moment just staring at Mafuyu, the way he sometimes has a habit of doing, like he's still surprised he's allowed to actually look at Mafuyu like this, like he can't believe his feelings are actually reciprocated. "I've been practicing the chords for your new song," Uenoyama says, turning his gaze down towards the floor. Mafuyu watches as the corners of his ears go slightly pink. "Is this right?" he asks, and positions his fingers to start playing. 

This time, Mafuyu has been doing most of the composition, too, getting help and advice from the other members when he needs it. So he's familiar with the melody, the chord progression, the way the song sounds. He knows all that, this time, so it won't have the same effect as when Uenoyama first wrote a song for him.

But then Uenoyama plays the first chord. It echoes in the room in spite of the soundproofing, resounding in a way it shouldn’t be able to. Mafuyu feels it in every bone, resonating through every inch of him. Uenoyama isn’t looking at him; his eyes are focused on the guitar strings, making sure he’s playing correctly as he strums out the next few chords. 

Mafuyu is getting used to this again: actually feeling things, having a range of emotions and not just cold-frozen-numb. It’s at moments like this when it particularly overwhelms him, when he looks at Uenoyama and finds himself reeling from the shock of it all. He hadn’t even dreamed that he would be allowed to be want someone again, much less that someone would want him back, but here is his boyfriend, playing the song they’ve been writing together, and every note sounds like love. 

“Mafuyu?” says Uenoyama. Mafuyu distantly registers a hand being waved in front of his face. “Was that right? I keep getting the third chord mixed up; it’s the one we kept changing, so I can never remember if — ”

Uenoyama doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Mafuyu launches himself forward and kisses him, the guitar pressed between them. Uenoyama inadvertently hits one of the strings, one muddled note playing out as he responds to the kiss, shuffling until he has both hands cupped around Mafuyu's neck. It's a bit uncomfortable and a little strange and Mafuyu's skin tingles because it makes him so happy.

Uenoyama stares at Mafuyu a little blankly when he pulls back, and Mafuyu likes him even like this, with a stupid, dopey grin, looking equal parts confused and enamored. “You did get the third chord wrong,” Mafuyu says once a bit more clarity has returned to Uenoyama’s eyes. “We decided on F#, for that one.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, I forgot,” Uenoyama says, turning around to scribble in his notebook. “Did I get the rest of it right, though?”

Mafuyu nods, humming assent. “I like hearing you play my songs.”

Uenoyama blushes again, just slightly, looking at the floor again. “I like playing them.” He finally glances up, catching Mafuyu’s eye. “You’re good, you know?”

Mafuyu smiles. “Thank you.”

Maybe one day, Uenoyama will say things like that and it won’t fill Mafuyu from head to toe with comfortable, summer-sunshine warmth, but they haven’t reached that point yet. Mafuyu isn’t sure they ever will, and he...well, he would be very much okay with that. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a songwriter and i can tell you with absolute certainty that mafuyu had to have written those lyrics ahead of time because you cannot suddenly ad-lib lyrics that fit a set tune/syllable count.
> 
> p.s. if anyone knows what the title of this fic is from, you win a special prize from me.


End file.
